Irenicon (17 page)

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

“My guardian instructs me to communicate that in principle he is not averse to the gonfaloniere’s proposal and is prepared to discuss terms.” Sofia handed over the letter, a replica of the first but for the Boar in place of the Dragon.

“Very well.” Gaetano gave a military nod.

“Tano?”

“Yes?”

When he spun around, she slapped him. “You
knew
what it said!”

He stepped back but kept his flag down.

She followed him into Piazza Luna. “You made
me
carry it!”

“
Tranquillo,
Sofia!”

“I feel sick. You think I want that?”

“Be rational, girl, for once in your life! When the bridge opens, you think the streets will flood with brotherly love? They’ll be flooded
all right—unless we act, and now. The Small People look to us for an example.”

She laughed bitterly. “You still believe that?
We’re
the reason for this mess.”

“Excuse me for not having an outside perspective.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Look, for good or ill, the Families are in charge. If we go to war, Rasenna follows our banners and the river will run red, towers will tumble. I don’t want to force you against your heart, but I don’t see another way. I’m your friend—I’ll always be your friend—but if it’s a choice between diplomacy and killing, I choose diplomacy.”

“
Diplomacy?
This is a tactical maneuver conceived by your father—or, more likely, your brother. Do they love peace? They want me in a cage of pretty dresses and servants while they run riot over the north. I know that.” Sofia took a breath and said quietly, “And the Doc knows it too. Please, don’t do this.”

Gaetano whispered in turn, “You don’t think I know that? I may not have my father’s ear, but I am his arm.” He held up the letter. “And however nice his reply, I’m not naive enough to trust the Doctor either.”

She didn’t contradict him.

“I know he’d never give you away if he couldn’t get you back. I know your borgata is stronger. I know Doc’s been holding back so he can deliver a death blow. But Sofia, I trust
us
! That’s why I gave
you
the letter, so I could propose a real alliance—call it that instead of marriage. We used to whisper about it when we were little; don’t you remember? Teaming up, stopping the fighting? Well, here’s our chance! Fight for Rasenna, with me—we’re as guilty as them if we don’t. So, will you? Will you be my ally?”

Sofia kissed him. “Tano, I don’t love you.”

He swore and raised his banner to strike.

She didn’t flinch.

He lowered his weapon and gave that same constrained martial nod. “Thanks to your Concordian friend, Rasenna’s coming together, so their way or our way, it’s happening.” He held up the
letter. “And you can let them rip it apart again, or you can put duty above your feelings and bind it forever.”

“I don’t care what Doc’s letter says. I’m not marrying you or anyone else,” she said, knowing that he couldn’t hear her and that there was nothing more to say.

He watched her walk away, back into the engineer’s arms. Was this fidelity’s reward? He’d been raised in intrigue; he knew what to call it.

Betrayal.

As hard as that first week of full-contact sparring had been, Sofia realized as the training went on that Lucia had been holding back. Still, she managed to defend herself and, after another week, actually land a blow. It was sufficient to keep her motivated.

“So, can you see the future or what?”

“It’s not that simple. We can’t choose what’s shown to us. We merely stay aware of Time’s current and hear echoes others are deaf to, and when the current shifts, we see possibilities.”

“Impressively vague. Prove it: What’s my future? Will I be married like a fairy-tale princepessa?”

“I told you, we see only ripples. It is said adepts experience the whole current before death, but for us, usually, it’s just a feeling—it’s not much, but an intuition about what an opponent will do next can mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

The sun, low over the river, threw the crew’s shadows across Piazza Luna as they headed home.

On the bridge’s north side, Giovanni waved to Sofia. “Just doing a final check.”

“Me too.”

“We’re fine,” he said, waiting till she came nearer to continue. “The Morello haven’t interfered lately.”

“They’re keeping a low profile because if they behave, they get me. I come with a hell of a dowry.”

“I heard about the proposal,” he said, crouching to examine the balustrade, either very preoccupied or trying hard to give that impression.

“I’m not going to be bought and sold like that.”

He looked up suddenly. “You
don’t
want to marry Gaetano?”

“I never do anything I’m told to.”

“Well, that seems to be level,” he said, not hiding his smile very well. “All good here. I should be—”

“Walking home? I’ll escort you.”

“I’m not in danger anymore.”

“I just want to walk with you”—she raised her voice—“if that’s all right with you, Captain.”

“Oh,” he said, getting flushed, “I’d be delighted.”

“Avanti!”

The bandieratori circled. Gaetano waited a moment, let his focus sharpen, then took a step back and, keeping his eyes on the front two, jabbed his stick backward, where it connected with the face of the third.

“You could have taken me if you’d coordinated. Now I’ve got a chance.”

“Do you really?”

Gaetano looked up to the second floor. Valentino stood in the door of their father’s study, smiling sympathetically.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, descending the stairs.

That was impossible; Gaetano’s choleric younger brother intimidated the students more than he ever could.

“So, Bardini accepted our proposal but the Contessa refuses to dance?”

“Shut up.”

Valentino paced around the training square, oblivious to the twirling banners around him. “Unless! Ah, here’s a thought—”

Parrying the attacks of the two students in front, Gaetano received a side jab from the third. He dropped his flag and grabbed the one who’d gotten lucky, pulling him into his fist. That left two.

He whipped around and parried their joint attack while sliding a foot under his own fallen flag. He kicked it into the air and caught it, twirling each flag until they balanced.

“Unless?” he grunted.

Valentino sauntered between the nervous bandieratori. “Unless the Contessa likes forbidden fruit as well.”

Gaetano roared and went for the last two. They struck back, too fast, off balance. He rotated his stick, caught them in the chest together, and pushed them off their feet.

“But unlike you, she gets to taste one.”

Gaetano swung but pulled up short.

Valentino laughed. “I’m not afraid. That’s what the Concordians taught me. Train with these boys all you like. You need to be ready up here”—he tapped Gaetano’s forehead—“for what’s coming.”

“And what’s that?”

Valentino went back upstairs, shaking his head with exaggerated grief. “War, Brother. War.”

“Flags up, boys,” Gaetano said.

Sofia and Giovanni walked south in easy silence. The evening retained the day’s heat yet, with no whisper of impending autumn’s funeral march. In the once-deserted piazza, Rasenneisi mingled around the workers’ food stalls. The life that appeared with the bridge came so easily that it went at first unnoticed, like the passing away of summer.

They walked from the piazza through narrow streets lined by towers—and they too were different as overhead neighbors leaned from windows exchanging worries: the legion, the tribute, the prospect of peace, and, of course, the bridge, which one neighbor called a godsend while another cursed it. That was another difference: silence may be better than whispers, but argument out loud is better yet.

The expiring sun painted dark towers blinding white, and Sofia had to squint to see beyond the shimmering cobblestones in the heat. White-glowing seed heads from the surrounding contato floated lazily through the streets like bubbles in a slowly moving stream. She imagined the street was the drowned heart of old Rasenna, that that was the reason they walked so slowly.

The first Giovanni knew something was wrong was when Sofia raised her flag. He looked up and saw shut windows, heard the silence.

“Let’s go.”

There was no point trying to get back to the bridge; they were nearer to Tower Vanzetti now.

She turned a corner to find five bandieratori waiting, all masked but one.

“Stay behind me.”

“Should we run?” he said.

“I don’t turn my back to pigs like these. Who sent you, Tano?”

“No one.”

“’Course they did. You’re just too dumb to know it.”

Gaetano held back as four gold flags went forward. Sofia tried at first to defend
and
keep an eye on him, but that was impossible, so she focused on bringing the flags down efficiently. When she turned back, Gaetano thrust a threatening flag toward her with one hand; his other held a knife to Giovanni’s throat.

“
Idiota!
You can’t kill a Concordian engineer. The consequences—”

“Damn them! I should have done this months ago!”

There was no talking to him; he’d come to kill—nor was there any way to reach him in time or stop him fast enough if she did.

In a moment, Giovanni would die.

And that too was impossible; there was no way she’d let that happen. And believing that, Sofia saw that the
time
it took to cross the
distance
didn’t matter. She just had to get to the point where she could stop Gaetano, even if she had to move faster than a blade could cut air.

She watched the moisture drops in her exhalation, then inhaled and

Gaetano’s body slammed against the wall. Sofia stood several braccia from where she had been a moment earlier. The blade clanged noisily as it struck the ground.

“Giovanni, come on!” Sofia shouted.

“How did you—?”

“No idea, but I feel drunk.”

“Tower Vanzetti’s back there.”

“First place they’ll look.”

“Where, then? I can’t climb like you.”

Her curse echoed in the narrow streets. She had never realized how constraining those streets could be.

“The bridge will be guarded too. Where’s the last place anyone would look for a Concordian?”

Gaetano’s men searched fruitlessly for hours before returning to Palazzo Morello. Quintus had panicked when Valentino revealed Gaetano’s likely intentions; a second dead Concordian—an engineer—would seal their fate irrevocably.

“How could you be so
reckless
?”

Gaetano took his admonishment in sullen silence; he could scarcely explain it to himself.

Inside the Palazzo della Signoria, Giovanni picked up the Speaker’s mace, feeling its weight. “I can’t go back to Tower Vanzetti?”

“Not tonight,” Sofia said. “Not until Quintus Morello gets a leash on Tano.” She paced between the rows as if she had lost something important there.

Giovanni put the mace back. “He cares for you, doesn’t he?”

“That’s how Love looks in Rasenna, exactly like Hate. I hate this town.”

“Why don’t we leave?”

“And go where? Ride south and join a Company?” she said in exasperation. “Would you fight paesani?”

“I’d fight for Rasenna.”

“Oh, stop!” Sofia snapped. “Just stop. This is just
dreaming
—that’s all Gaetano and I did when we were children, and now look at us, all grown up and can’t be enemies, can’t be friends.”

She sat down in the Doctor’s usual chair. “There’s nowhere to go, nowhere you could escape your country or I could
escape my name. You can’t understand what it means to be a Scaligeri . . .”

“It’s your decision,” he said quietly. “You’re the one who’s going to have to live with it.”

Everyone else told her what to do; they all wanted her for something. She never had to think what the right decision was, just do the opposite. He was asking her to decide for herself, and that was scarier than any approaching army.

She left after an hour, ordering him to stay hidden until she got back. “If they find you, they’ll kill you,” she repeated, somberly. “I’ll figure something out.”

She knew there’d be no waiting this one out, however. Gaetano was a Rasenneisi, new to love but well practiced in hate. He’d keep coming until one of them was dead. Unless she thought of something, Giovanni wouldn’t live to see his bridge open.

Lucia wiped the blood from her nose and bowed low and, for the first time, with respect.

After she left, Sofia said casually, “Less bad?”

“I’d go as far to say good.” The nun studied her. “You’re different somehow.”

“I think I used Water Style last night. I was attacked. It was strange—”

“Strange that you needed it; you’re already a match for any Rasenneisi.”

“One of them had Giovanni, and a knife—”

“And you were frightened?”

“I—”

“And, best of all, for another!” She sounded almost excited.

“You act like getting ambushed was a good thing.”

“You care for him?”

“Sister, if a second Concordian is killed, an engineer especially, Rasenna’s going to be in serious trouble.”

“Perhaps more than care . . .”

“Perhaps you’re getting imaginative in your old age.”

“As you like. Whatever the spur, it was the fear you’ve been avoiding. This is a start. We must go further.”

“Can’t we spar for a little longer? I’m finally getting good at this.”

“You still don’t understand that fighting is secondary, do you? No matter. I’ll show you.”

When she closed her eyes, she could hear the nun warning against haste, but she wasn’t sure if it was real or imagination. The twilight was pleasant; she felt as if she were floating in warm water.

“I can reach your mind because you are near. You cannot stay on the surface and learn.”

Reluctantly, Sofia swam down until she could feel the Water’s coldness, its immensity, its power. She could hear the nun’s voice still, but now it was distant.

“Yesterday you felt dizzy, yes? That was Water, pushing back. Fear pushes back too. You must learn to go toward it, and that means seeing it as it truly is. You must go